


What ho, Biggles!

by id_ten_it



Series: A barful strife [1]
Category: Biggles Series - W. E. Johns, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-30 07:09:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5154866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/id_ten_it/pseuds/id_ten_it
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The grand adventures of Jeeves and Wooster meeting the grand adventures of Biggles and Co.<br/>(a cross-post from biggles_slash on livejournal)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wooster, B., gets confused with one Lissie, B., we brush shoulders with the War to End All Wars, Jeeves is Jeeves and we sight the beginings of some rummy circs.

I awoke with a particular feeling of gloom. This was caused, I deduced, by the pain in my leg, and heightened by the lack of Jeeves at my side. Rather rum, I considered, and made to say so.

"Raghthhrm" I frowned, swallowed, and found my throat as dry as a particularly parched rock in the Sahara. Well, thought this Wooster, if unable to talk because of thirst, water must be found. I didn't think anything stronger would be forthcoming. The bits of room that I could see were white and forbidding, managing to suggest spirits were evaporated before they fully formed, dispersing any of the longed-for brandy.

 

"Water, Mr Wooster?"  A toothsome bezel leaned over, pushing interesting parts of her anatomy to my immediate attention. Sadly all I could do was make a sort of cough, not unlike the asthmatic sheep on a distant hillside that Jeeves employs, though more bronchial and standing in a river on that self-same hill.

The bezel - nurse, I suppose I should say - smiled and produced the aforementioned liquid, even going so far as to aid me in sitting a touch more upright. I gulped it down like the thirsty chap I was, and felt wet enough to speak my thanks.

"Thanks very much. I say, I don't mean to be rude or anything, but where exactly am I?"

"Hospital, Mr Wooster. You were crossing the road when an omnibus hit you..." She paused and I cast my mind back, then shook my head. "Can't remember it I'm afraid. Still," I laughed lightly, "I can hardly remember my own name half the time. Ask one of my Aunts.” I may have added a tra-la, to show I was unconcerned, you know. She smiled indulgently, "Well, you remembered it enough to tell us when we were bandaging you up."

"Good-ho. Some Samaritan do the good deed and ship me over here, hey?"

"Precisely. Now that you're awake I can ask you - is there anyone we should contact?"

I nodded, "Yes. Can you ring my flat and just let Jeeves know? Then he can field all calls." She hovered and it took me a while to realise she didn't know which flat of the hundreds in London was mine. "Oh! Sorry. Here you are...."

 

A rummy sitch., as you can see. I had vague images slowly working themselves into a more useful array which told me the full story. After about half an hour of puzzling things over I recalled that I had popped into the bookstore, on the hunt for the newest mystery, and duly found it. Engrossed in the tome in my hands I had clearly been unlucky in judging the distance between self and 'bus, and paid the price. I stared down the W. corpus. No broken bones, that was certain. Gingerly, keeping a weather eye out for nurses, I lifted the blankets. As I thought, the lower left leg was bandaged neatly. The funny gown that I was lying in was easy enough to lift up, and I beheld grazes and bruising on the whole left side of my leg, matching the bits on my arm. If that was what I looked like, I could but imagine what my clothes were like. No doubt Jeeves would burn them quietly, in some midnight ritual that would prevent the neighbours from seeing.

The image of Jeeves dancing about burning the y. masters clothes was so funny that it took a moment for me to hear someone calling my name. More accurately, three someone's, with varying levels of volume and clarity.

"Be-ertie.....Be-ertie...be-ertie" That one sounded like a wounded bird, all high then low, trying to be quiet but forgetting until halfway through the word.

"Bertie! Hi, Bertie! Bertie! Hi, Bertie!" That one sounded more like a snare drum, rattling off the words with a precision that told me he, at least, had served.

"Bertie?" It was said the most infrequently, half-heartedly, as if the owner knew the other two were making enough noise for me to hear. I didn't recognise any of them, but that didn't mean much, my head being still a tad confused. Besides, echoing corridors played merry hell with the timbre of anything, voices included.

"Yes? Here!" I called back, thankful for the glass of water the nurse had left.

 

"Be-ti....shhhh!" The other two were quiet just as suddenly. "Where are you?" That was the Sergeant Major talking.

"Here." I replied, idiotically. Well, it was hardly a fair question, after all. I could hardly be expected to know more than that I was in a hospital bed, could I?

I wonder if you know that hymn- _tum tumm, tiddlity tum,_

_tum tum tiddle tum, tum tum_

_was lost, and now, am found?_

 

It was a bit like that, when they finally burst in. All very happy with themselves, if I am any judge of facials. (Since decoding some Jeevesian eyebrow raises and mouth twitches, I like to think there is none better at facial expressions than Wooster, BW at the Drones).

"Bertie, just as well. They weren't going to let us in, out of visiting hours, but we had to tell you...." A chappie with freckles and hair like the daughter of that king. Knight? No, the knight was dead. Definitely the king. Jeeves would know. I made a note to ask him next time he saw him.

"Tell me what? Is that why you were sneaking around? Didn't want the women-folk to find you and chase you out?" I smiled my best conspiratorial smile and then frowned when there was no reply. I mean to say, a man tried his best, it would be nice for that to be repayed with something!

 

"You aren't Bertie." The freckly one eventually said.

"Oh ho is that your game? I may have been hit on the old noggin, but I most certainly am Bertie, of that I am sure."

The Sergeant-Majorish one laid a hand on the talkative fellows shoulder and nodded at me once, like he was sorry for the intrusion. "You're not Bertie Lissie, is what he means."

"I see.” I I-seed. "No, I don't think I am. I'm Bertie Wooster." There was a bit of shuffling and I remembered my manners, hauling myself up the bed a little more. "I say, I'm sorry about the mistake and everything. Would you like to sit down? Drink?"

The bossy one spoke quickly, decisively. "We won't, thanks. As Ginger said, we're in a bit of a hurry..."

I was still trying to work out why he'd stopped talking when the door opened and that paragon of valets stepped in. He also looked a touch harried.

"Jeeves!" I cried out. "You also sneaking through the nurses' wrath, are you?"

He nodded, raising an eyebrow the expected eighth of an inch, and inquiring, politely, "Yes sir. Should I return later, sir?"

"We're just leaving." the bossy one repeated, firmly staring at the one who had said nothing all this time.

"Not at all, my good man.” I called, carefree as a bird, worried not a jot about these mad goings-on, “Pull up a chair and I'll give you the rundown of the condition of the last of the Woosters."

 

He was in the process of so doing when the silent one finally spoke. I couldn't see why he'd held it in for so long - he had the sorts of measured tones that made you listen, with a slightly softer accent than our own way of talking. I had the idea that he could sing, if nothing else, when I got around to processing what was being said.

"..ginald Jeeves, aren't you? Supply, France, the last year wasn't it?"

I stared at Jeeves. We never talked about the first war - we hardly talked about the second any more though it was doing a jolly good job of making its presence felt at every meal, what with rationing - and we'd been through it together.

"Yes sir." Jeeves paused, and I could see the next sentence pained him. "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't recall...."

"Algernon Lacey. Lieutenant Algy, after much wrangling." He grinned and Jeeves blinked, as if remembering France all of a sudden.

"Of course sir. I'm sorry that I didn't..."

"Nonsense. It's only because someone said your name that I remembered where I'd seen you before. I don't think you had much dealing with Biggles here, did you?"

"Major Bigglesworth." Jeeves said instantly, then followed it a moment later with, "No, I didn't, sir."

Algy shook his head good-naturedly, "I'm not surprised. Fellow forgot where home was for a while there."

Bigglesworth stared at him and I watched, fascinated, as two iron wills battled it out. I was still trying to work out who had won when the red-headed chappie announced he was going to look for that Lissie fellow, if no one else was.

"You two go on ahead." Lacey instructed, "You can pick me up on the way past. I'm sure he's worked it out by now already."

A rum thing turned up in Bigglesworth's eye- hadn't I said he was Majorish? I knew I could spot them from a hundred feet! - Similar to the particularly soupy look Jeeves had given me only last night, when presenting him with a particularly juicy tie.

"Algy...."

"Well go on then. It's not like I'll add anything."

I wanted to point out how wrong Lacey was, as shown by the reproachful eyes Biggles gave him, but the other two were gone before I could say anything.

 

"Before you two catch up on years past and all that...." I began.

Jeeves looked at me loyally, though Lacey seemed a tad impatient.

"Jeeves, that King's daughter, with red hair. How does it..."

"Roses are at her feet/ Roses are red in her red-gold hair sir?"

I nodded, then wished I hadn't, "That's the fellow. Who wrote that again?"

"Oscar Wilde, sir. The Dole of the King's Daughter, I believe. Sir, may I...?" He gestured towards the water jug on the table, as if to pour me another drink.

"No Jeeves, you and Mr Lacey must catch up. I'd ankle out of your way, old thing, but that's hardly possible, and with nurses on the rampage I'd hardly suggest the corridor."

The corner of his mouth twitched in its Jeevesian manner and he followed Lacey to the other end of the room. The room wasn't large enough for me to not hear everything, but it gave them a semblance of privacy I suppose.

Always best to be sensitive around France, I feel.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Algy does Things, Jeeves does Things, Biggles does Things, and Wooster, B.W., feels some thingness.

Ginger rushed to keep up with the quick strides of Biggles, almost running as the other swept around corners, collared the first nurse they came across and then stalked into the real Bertie’s room as if doomsday itself was upon them. In fact, he thought wryly, Biggles was probably less concerned with doomsday. That was only death after all.  
“I say, what’s the hurry chaps?” Bertie – Lissie that is – was sitting up in bed with a mirror in his hand, inspecting his wispy moustache for damage.  
“Those fellows who put you here, did you get a good description? There’s been nobody on the ‘phone for the last hour!” Biggles was quickly puffing himself up and Ginger went to intervene when Bertie did it for him.

“No need for anybody to ring, old chap.” He was still slightly more concerned about his facial hair but glanced at his friends from over the mirror, “those police chappies were right behind me when it happened. All I had to do was call out and point and off the good old Bobbies raced, heads down and heels flying. Couldn’t have had a better set of greyhounds.”  
Biggles nodded, thankful that at least one part of their plan was going well even if it was the secondary part of it. “Well there’s that I suppose.” He murmured. “So when will you be out of here then?”

***

The more I shifted and tried not to think about it, the more the bandages itched at my sensitive skin. One of the many wonderful things about Jeeves is that although he has a full head of hair, he isn’t so hirsute as to make his chest uncomfortable and rash inducing. In fact it was quite the opposite and frequently this particular Wooster could be found resting atop the Jeevesian corpus, and feeling bally good about it too.

“Are you uncomfortable sir?” I hadn’t even noticed him stop jawing with the new comer.  
“What Jeeves? No I’m fine, really.” I gave him a small smile, “your friend will be…”  
“I really should be going. Bertie Lissie will be concerned if I don’t join them.”  
Jeeves nodded quickly, shaking hands quickly, “it was a pleasure to see you again Mr Lacey. I hope your work goes well.”  
“Oh I’m sure it will. We always muddle through in the end.” His cheery laugh was eerily familiar, “if you’d ever like a job….”  
“Thank you but no. I’m far too settled as a valet.”  
He laughed again, “you always were more of a Mycroft, Jeeves. Well, cheerio!” with a flap of the old paw in the general direction of the bed he disappeared into the corridor.

“Old friend, Jeeves?”  
“Hardly friend sir. We met in France. It was enjoyable to reacquaint myself with his progress however.” As he spoke he was adjusting the young master to a more comfortable position, arranging everything so I was suddenly no longer itching but lying in comfort and feeling rather more oojah-cum-spiff.  
“I say Jeeves, that’s bally well perfect.”  
“I endeavour to give satisfaction sir.” He murmured, leaning down ostensibly to arrange the sheets but more to provide us both with some comfort. It was at that moment that a man came flying through the open window and rolled under a bed. “Pay no notice to him sir.” Jeeves murmured, keeping me still with his hands, “all will be well.”

***

“I’ve done it” was Algy’s opening salvo, “so not another word.”  
“Done what old thing?” Bertie had thankfully put down the mirror and stopped fingering his moustache. Biggles merely raised a doubting eyebrow but did at least deign to explain, “Algy found an old friend who can help us. Apparently he’s by way of being a bit of a brainiac.” Was it Algy’s imagination or did Biggles’ lips curl a little at that thought? The older he got the more cynical and twisted he became. Both of them became. Ginger gave him a look and asked quickly, “so what’s the plan, chief?”

Briefly, yet omitting nothing, Algy detailed the plan which he had given Jeeves. “We know they’re likely to try and finish the job with Bertie” Bertie tried to look unbothered at this pronouncement and vaguely succeeded. “So we thought to play off the fact that there are currently two Berties of similar lineage and age in the building at the same time. With some careful talking out of the window and some leaked information it should be obvious to the meanest intelligence where the target is. Between the policemen chasing him and the policeman waiting in the room, he should be well and truly surrounded.”  
Bertie – the Lissie in front of them – looked rather impressed. “Well done. That’s pretty well thought out.”  
Biggles shared a look with Algy, nodding a tiny amount. “How about you go and find some drinks for us Ginger?” he asked, pulling two chairs over to flank the window. Algy sat slightly warily, wishing that he hadn’t put himself in this situation, with work and private life interfering with each other. Biggles at least stretched out his legs a little where nobody could see. If Bertie _could_ see he would have noted James playing a rather languid and apologetic version of footsie.

***

Well it’s deuced hard to pay no notice to a strange man cavorting underneath the bed next to you, but if anybody can calm the alarm bells it’s that paragon of virtue Reginald Jeeves. I dearly wanted to do a few delicious things with him but sadly we were no longer alone so those dreams would have to remain unfulfilled for now. There’s something about being in a bed which steers one’s mind in that direction, sort of like how I can’t eat cheese without the phantasm of Stilton Cheesewright leering at me and making the old ticker feel a touch squeamish. It took a while for me to realise that Jeeves was talking, and not in the sort of voice that one would like a beloved to use when next to your hospital bed. By the time I had worked out all of this, he was well into explaining whatever wheeze it was that he was explaining, and I was left all ahoo, scrambling to catch up as it were.

“Of course sir we will remain with you until you see fit to leave the country.” With that suggestive line, he sat down, pulled out a little notebook from his jacket, and proceeded to read. “Why-?” I spluttered, and again he was explaining. It didn’t take a genius for me to realise that he was play acting, and I gave up trying to understand, nodded sagely, adjusted the sheets, and attempted to doze off. Morpheus was unlikely to require me to puzzle it out quite so much.

I suppose it was about half an hour later when I awoke with a violent start. There were hands at my throat! As soon as I realised that, my noodle like arms and legs were noodle like no more. Threatened with a force attempting to expel my life essence I channelled the ancient Wooster who had fought at Agincourt, and flailed about with the best of them. My arms were like iron bands as I pushed against this great weight. The room got dimmer as I struggled and there may have been a manful grunt of exertion that left my throat while I did so.

The next thing I saw was Reggie’s dear face hovering over me, feeling his hand on my throat and face. “Bertie?” he murmured, eyes more than a little wide, “are you alright?” as my eyes rolled around the room he hastily sought to reassure me, “The assailant is in the next bed, unconscious.” Even though he was clearly worried about me and how I was faring his lips couldn’t quite hide a disgusted upturning that suggested the assailant had some bally nerve. The laugh I gave at this changed his look of disgust into a fond smile that helped ease my sore throat. “In a few minutes I will have to leave and ask the gentlemen from earlier back to our room, Bertie.”  
“In a few minutes, Reggie” and perhaps the voice was showing the strain placed on the old vocal chords, because for the next ten minutes I was cuddled against my favourite chest in the world, and that’s including the chest where my soothing tea blends are kept.

***

Ginger returned with tea, passing out the cups with a remark for each that he clearly found amusing. Biggles regarded him coldly when Ginger tried to convince him that the tea was cheap indian stuff with milk in it, only stopping when Algy stood and paced. “It shouldn’t take this long,” he averred, “not if you were right, Biggles.”

“Perhaps he’s outside the window right now?” Ginger questioned, “maybe he _didn’t_ get the message that Bertie’s in hospital and needs more attacking.”  
“Or maybe things are just taking a little longer than we initially anticipated.” Bertie hastily interposed, “and that servant fellow will be in to tell us about it after dinner. Then perhaps I can stop watching you all hide from the nurses.”  
Biggles sat up a little straighter, “I do not hide from them!” he spluttered, still spluttering when a formidable looking nurse wheeled a bandaged patient into their little conclave.

“I say fellows!” the patient – Biggles now recognised him as the _other_ Bertie – called out, “rummy sitch don’t you know. Jeeves reckons a couple of your coppers should bowl along there at once and bail him out before the blighter comes round again. Seems a bit determined to get his paws on yours truly, or maybe on you, old thing!” he chortled, grinning across at Bertie Lissie.  
“So you’re the other Bertie are you?” the pilot grinned, sticking out his hand and thus enticing the nurse to settle the chair next to the bed.  
“That’s right! Bertie Wooster, tangled up in here because I thought they were calling my name. I got hit by a bus…” he rattled on and Lissie seemed more than happy, the pair of them chattering away like a pair of old English lords, which they probably were. Biggles shook his head at Algy and went back out down the halls to find out what had happened. Algy just grinned and winked at Ginger.

The hospital room Biggles walked into was exactly the same as the one he had just left, apart from the trussed man on the bed. The valet nodded serenely at him as he entered. “I believe this is the man you wanted sir?” Biggles agreed, regarding how neatly the man was now lying, firmly squared away, the room immaculate. “I’ll just go and telephone the Yard and arrange for him to be taken away. I presume you sent Mr Wooster to let us know so you could ensure the coward was properly managed?”  
Jeeves nodded, rather pleased that it appeared to have worked. “Yes sir. The authorities, sir?” Biggles grunted, leaving to go and ring Raymond. When he returned from placing his telephone call and sat next to Algy, the latter thought he seemed a little nervous. He was fishing for his cigarette case again and the aristocratic chatter coming from the beds seemed to frustrate him even more.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Biggles locked in a room with two Berties, steadily going mad. The end of the case.

The other Bertie – Lissie, the man I was supposed to be being – was a frightfully cheerful sort of a cove, and jolly interesting to boot. Usually these excursions into someone else’s life end up with self bundled out of the way while Jeeves goes fishing in the soup and makes it all right-side-up as it were. This time, whilst Jeeves had, of course, done the lion’s share of the work, the other four gents, of whom Lissie was but one, had done a heck of a lot too. A small voice in the Wooster onion hoped this would prevent _him_ from being too tired. Lissie was explaining all of the twists and turns that had been a part of his trip to the hospital. It was frightfully good; at least as good as the books I like to curl up with on a chilly winter’s day.

It turned out that these chappies were air detectives. Full of the knowledge of flying aircraft and the uncanny ability to think, they’d abandoned a life of luxury to slog it out using their brain. I must say, they did a dashed fine job too. Bertie and his chums had worked out that there was a spy afoot, smuggling out information about the jolly old Home Office, and sending it off to foreign fields. Gripping stuff, and with a few twists and turns which he explained to me once I grasped the basic concept.

***

“He’s telling that fool everything” Biggles grumbled, cigarette case now being turned end over end in his slim fingers, “how does he know that he can trust him?”  
“He helped us out of a tight spot” Algy countered reasonably, “and he certainly knows some good people.”  
Biggles couldn’t prevent his eyebrow raising an eighth of an inch, “his valet was a blanket man whom you happen to remember from forty years ago…I hardly think that’s a ringing endorsement.”  
“His valet was a mate to the Quarter Master who happened to be able to get me some particularly good stores. I certainly didn’t hear you complaining at the time! You seemed to quite like the non-itchy blankets.” Out of necessity they were keeping their voices low, but the hurt and frustration were clear. Algy was feeling claustrophobic again. “Just because I remember someone doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re going to play an important role in my future. I remember my school masters but they’re all dead! There’s plenty of people you remember who are no longer our concern and once this is over I’m sure Jeeves and Mr Wooster will fall into the same category.” Tirade over Algy relented. There was, after all, such a thing as protesting too much, and Biggles was probably just worried. That was one thing that had never stopped.  “Anyway” he said quickly, “what did Raymond have to say?”

Biggles subsided, oddly reassured by Algy’s quick dismissal of the whole idea. “Nothing much. We couldn’t talk very clearly because it’s an open line of course, but he seemed rather chuffed. His one odd comment was that there could be more to come.”  
The man opposite him shrugged, regarding Biggles with a hint of fondness now he knew that there was nothing thundery between them, “we’ll make sure Bertie doesn’t go and do anything dangerous alone then. That should sort them out!” Glancing across at the bed he realised they still hadn’t stopped talking and their incessant chatter was putting his room-mate off his stride.

***

“It’s all jolly interesting” I said again, while my new found friend (and working man!) was taking on some more water, “it’s like your whole life is one of those detective stories.”  
“Well in a way it is” he preened his moustache, shaking off the errant water droplets, “running around and saving the world and so on. Of course Biggles does most of it but now and then it takes a real gentleman to…ease the cogs of social intervention, if you will.”

“Ease the cogs of social intervention?!” Biggles mouthed at Algy, “ease the cogs?!” his face was a comical mix of confusion and amusement and Algy grinned, hastily hiding it behind a hand.

“There’s a bit of a change of pace between this and the life before the jolly old war, but that can’t be helped if you want to keep evil at bay, what?” Bertie continued to chat.   
“Absolutely not!” I chirruped, “can’t say that we had it easy but we got through, if a bit scathed. If your worst scar is a job well, some fellows didn’t come back at all, eh?”  
“Quite right!” Lissie agreed, “I could have lost a leg or two like that Bader chappy but as it is, just lost my carefree constant holiday.”

Algy was in silent fits of laughter throughout this exchange as Biggles’ face got more and more frustrated and comical. There were so few moments when the leader of their crew was genuinely confused that it was quite something to watch the confusion growing, the air becoming thicker as it picked up smoke and heat from Biggles’ whirling thoughts. There was more of a frown appearing on that wrinkled brow as the two Berties chatted on in the typically round-about way of the noblesse, completely disregarding any suggestion their English was descended from Shakespeare (as Biggles would later complain while Algy laughed and put away his clothes). Biggles was so confused, in fact, that when Jeeves first returned with Ginger it was to Algy he addressed himself.   
“There’s a message from Scotland Yard, sir.”   
Algy stopped laughing and looked up at Jeeves, “Yes Jeeves?” Even the two Berties had sort of stopped and were now just watching, intrigued.  
“Yes sir. Saying they have the right men and they look forward to finishing off their report with you next week, whenever it is most convenient.”

As soon as Jeeves got in and delivered his message the atmosphere of the room changed. Biggles and Algy both jumped up and started gathering their things, the former still clasping a dashed silly looking cigarette. Well I mean to say, they were big things and he has little hands better fitting a lady so they looked like monstrous great cigars!

“Come on Bertie.” Algy said, reaching past me for the Bertie in bed, “we’ll head off and enjoy free living till Monday. If they can deal without us we don’t want Raymond thinking of something else to do.” You’d have thought that a friend of Jeeves’ would be straight as the noonday shadow but this fellows eyes gave an odd set of darts around the room as he said it, as if he couldn’t stop checking to make sure Biggles wasn’t being terrorised by one of the Nurses. I mentioned it to Jeeves as we made our own way back to the flat the next day, that paragon of Valet’s holding my bag and being a steadying influence, having promised the Nurses to ensure I got plenty of bed rest.   
“Dashed odd. Grown man should be able to look out for Nurses without his friends help, shouldn’t you think Jeeves?”  
“Certainly sir” Jeeves had agreed, his lips turning up almost perceptibly as he held the front door open for me, “provided, of course, he is worrying about Nurses and not, shall we say, Doctors.”  
“I say, Jeeves!” I I-sayyed, “is that a hunch or something that you learnt in France?”  
“Just a hunch, sir. Drink?”  
“Very good Jeeves. Pour yourself one too, eh?”  
“Very good sir.” And it was.

***

The return to their flat for the aviators was rather less amenable. Even if they’d wanted to (and James wasn’t entirely sure how he felt at the moment thanks, in the main, to his dizzying spell with not one but _two_ Berties, each as bad as the other), the oldest friends couldn’t exactly curl up on the couch with a glass of something together without the other two thinking something was up. Bertie himself was feeling a little bit worse for wear and retired to his room but Ginger was full of excitement and insisted on hanging around chatting and gesticulating until Biggles managed to pack him off to the movies.

“He’s a man now, Biggles. He can look after himself you know.” There was more than a hint of a smile tinging Algy’s lips.  
James leant closer, kissing the smile hidden in Algy’s lips, “do you want me to ask him back?” he asked, completely seriously. Algy managed to affect nonchalance, “if you think you’ll be lonely. I’m a bit tired from all of that running around. I’m going to bed.” James just shrugged, “suit yourself old boy,” but as soon as Algy stood and started walking away, he was following right behind. Smugglers and Spies could wait, or perhaps be someone else’s problem for a while.


End file.
